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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786314">No Pretense</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renabe/pseuds/Renabe'>Renabe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Push and Pull [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Past Alcohol Abuse, Not Beta Read, Soulmates, fairgameweekend2020, oh look finally a part 2 to that fic from fgw, what are the odds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:48:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renabe/pseuds/Renabe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clover finally tells Qrow a bit of his past that's been eating at him. Surely his soulmate, or perhaps more importantly, someone with a similar semblance who blames himself when things go wrong, will understand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Push and Pull [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Pretense</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fair Game Weekend Day 1 - Confessions</p><p>Part two of Push and Pull<br/>Part one is No Pressure, my soulmate fic from way back in March</p><p>Haha, it's only been what... half a year? What better time than another FG event to deliver that second part? I struggled for the longest time with how to frame the bulk of this part before writing something new altogether for that bit, sooooo... it's quite different from how I first imagined it. Hope it's still enjoyable!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Qrow did not go to see Clover until much later that night. He had spent the time reminding himself why it was a bad idea, how he already had too many names on the list of people he needed to protect from himself. And yet there he stood in front of Clover's door, prepared to knock. Maybe because he knew it was already too late- Clover was on that list whether he liked it or not, had been there for awhile now.</p><p>Letting out a heavy sigh, he rapped knuckles against the hardwood surface. The sound echoed in his ears. His pulse quickened. This was it, no going back.</p><p>The door opened quickly, almost too quickly, and a less than put together Clover greeted him. His hair was a mess, grey tank top and white pants wrinkled, the usual vest nowhere to be seen. Nothing covering the mark on his arm.</p><p>"Uh, hey," Qrow offered, feeling somewhat awkward now that they were face to face.</p><p>"Qrow, you came." Relief coloured Clover's words, amidst the slight tremor in his voice.</p><p>"You thought I wouldn't?"</p><p>Clover looked away. "That's not… I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have been passive aggressive about this." He met Qrow's eyes again. "About you."</p><p>"Well, hey, don't beat yourself up about it," Qrow teased gently, a callback to their first mission together. "If you'd been more direct, I might've had a heart attack." That made Clover huff out a laugh, and he stepped aside to invite Qrow inside.</p><p>Clover ushered Qrow to the sofa, taking a seat on his left, thinking to block his soul mark from view so as not to pressure the huntsman any more than he already felt he had. He fidgeted anxiously, unsure where to begin.</p><p>Qrow spoke first. “So… how long have you…”</p><p>“Known,” Clover offered, turning to look at him. When Qrow nodded, he continued, “A little while now. Our mirrored semblances should probably have been a dead giveaway, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.” He shifted to better face Qrow, pulling one leg up on the couch. “I ignored it at first. I just wanted to get to know you, no strings attached.”</p><p>Right hand finding its usual nervous spot on his neck, Qrow fought the urge to ask why anyone would want to get to know him. This wasn’t supposed to be about him right now. It was about Clover. Plus, he already knew the answer, as if Clover’s constant flirting hadn’t made it obvious that he was simply attracted to him right off the bat. Qrow shook his head to clear it.</p><p>“I think I was sure… when you shared a little of your past with me. That probably sounds strange, but it just felt like… home.”</p><p>Red eyes widened, and Qrow turned to look directly into complementary green. The only story of his past that he shared with Clover was not a happy tale, nor did it paint him in a good light. And it wasn’t ancient history either, Qrow had only recently changed for the better.</p><p>He had told Clover about the Apathy. About how he almost lost everything he cared about because he was too busy being a drunk to take care of himself, let alone the group of kids he should have been protecting.</p><p>He hadn’t even meant to tell Clover any of that. But the operative had found him wandering the halls late one night after a nightmare assured he wasn’t getting any more sleep. Clover hadn’t asked what was keeping him up, just offered his company. And Qrow had broken down. Unable to hold it all in anymore.</p><p>So if that had felt like home…</p><p>“You wanna talk about it?” Qrow’s eyes were no longer wide, but gentle, understanding.</p><p>Clover looked taken aback, if only for a moment. He sighed, a sad smile set in place as he asked, “You won’t think any less of me?”</p><p>“You know I won’t, lucky charm.”</p><p>Clover took a deep breath, gaze dropping to the space between them as he tried to think of where to start. He had never told anyone about his past. He thought he didn’t need to, that it didn’t matter to him anymore, but every now and again, it crept up on him, ate away at the perfect mask he wore for the rest of the world. He knew if he told anyone, they’d call him a fake. A liar.</p><p>Then he met Qrow. And suddenly he wanted to tell someone. He wanted to take that risk. And it scared him. He had waited weeks, even after determining for himself that they were soulmates, to finally decide to tell him. He almost didn’t. They had a good thing going, and he spent so much time wishing he could be satisfied with just that. Just the flirting, the lingering gazes, the togetherness, the listening. But he wanted it all, and he wanted to give it all. And that meant he’d have to tell him, or the guilt of pretending to be perfect while Qrow was so openly flawed would tear him apart.</p><p>“My weapon… there’s a reason it’s designed for a support role. Why I don’t use the harpoon.” He never wanted that damned harpoon, but Pietro had insisted, said he needed something offensive. Just in case.</p><p>Qrow was silent, nodding encouragingly for Clover to continue.</p><p>“A-and that reason is,” he stammered, ran a frustrated hand through the fringe at his temple. He took a moment to try to even his breathing, fingers tugging roughly on hair in an attempt to ground himself. He’d already come this far, and he was going to go through with it.</p><p>A hand was offered to him, palm up, open. He glanced almost desperately up at warm red eyes, exhaled a heavy sigh, and released the hold on his head to grasp that hand. Squeezed tightly, and Qrow squeezed back.</p><p>Clover offered a small smile, grateful in a way he couldn’t hope to explain with words. He tried again. “A lucky hit from me... is fatal.”</p><p>Green eyes remained fixed to red, watching as his words sank in. Those eyes only faintly reflected surprise, tinged with a hint of understanding, sad and oh too familiar with this shift in tone. Still, he waited for Clover to elaborate, should he desire. Held that hand a little tighter. Hoping to comfort.</p><p>And so Clover told him a tale of a boy with no family who worked on a fishing boat in Argus, thanks to his tendency to bring good luck wherever he went. He was almost decent with a spear and helped defend the boat from Grimm if ever they got caught out at sea, the captain unwilling to lose a catch and retreat to safety while the military went out to handle things.</p><p>That got them in trouble a lot, and lost them a few crew members along the way, Grimm snatching them from the boat. Clover's luck only went so far, especially when he had no control over it, and he felt guilty. The ship captain called him stupid, soft, useless if not for his good fortune, and even that was shoddy. Clover hated that. He started picking fights with the man, seeing just how far he could push his luck before he got hit.</p><p>The next time Grimm showed up at sea, Clover had had enough. He convinced enough of the crew to turn the ship around and head back. It wasn’t difficult when they were already afraid, and with a little luck from his semblance they were back at the docks before the captain could do anything about it. The captain didn’t like that.</p><p>He cornered Clover at the docks that night, threatened him. When that didn’t work, he hit him. Clover was cocky, didn't know when to back down, so he fought back. The captain got in a few solid punches before Clover scrambled out of reach, grabbed his spear. His nose was bleeding, and it was hard to see out of one eye. He warned the captain to back off. The captain didn’t listen. Realising just how angry the man was, Clover ran, spear in hand, not really looking where he was going. He tripped over a large crate, cut open his leg. The spear flew out of his hands. Fat lot of good his luck did him then.</p><p>Clover crawled toward the spear, fumbling to get a hold on it. The captain was close, too close. He had to grab the spear, or… he didn’t know what. He didn’t think the man would kill him, certainly not when he needed his <i>shoddy</i> good fortune. But how badly was he willing to hurt him? He didn’t want to find out.</p><p>Finally fingers gripped the pole of the spear, and he turned, swinging blindly. Hoping to scare him off. It certainly surprised the captain, and he jumped back to avoid the swing.</p><p>Clover threw the spear at him. Angry. Scared. It shouldn’t have been hard enough to do anything. It shouldn’t have. But he felt the crackle of his semblance as the spear flew out of his hand.</p><p>It landed true, right through the captain’s chest. There was no scream, just a low, gurgling sound of surprise as the man stared at the spear sticking out of his body. Clover watched, horrified, as the man fell to the ground. Dead.</p><p>Clover screamed, tried to get away. He didn’t get very far before a military officer found him. Found the captain’s body.</p><p>After being treated and questioned, they determined he was not at fault. He was just defending himself, they said. They didn’t know, though. He didn’t know how to explain his semblance, but he knew he willfully activated it, as inconsistent as it was. He knew <i>he</i> killed the man.</p><p>They asked if he wanted to enroll in a Huntsman Academy, learn to fight Grimm, learn to hone his skills. He hoped he could learn to better control his semblance. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. And so, he joined.</p><p>But the fear of getting a lucky hit and ending someone’s life never ended. He forewent crafting a new spear for Kingfisher, wanting something to remind him of where he came from but that didn’t have the same tainted memories weighing it down. So, a fishing rod. Highly advanced support weapon, but a fishing rod.</p><p>He didn’t care if people made fun of him for it. At least the people around him wouldn’t be in danger, he thought. There were still a few close calls, and each one sent him back to that night, to feeling helpless and wondering if maybe he’d hurt them on purpose. He couldn’t tell. But we was absolutely useless every time it happened, would hide away from everyone for days on end before resuming practicing alone.</p><p>He needed to get better. At everything. He needed to be fast enough, strong enough. He needed to plan each move perfectly. So he wouldn’t hurt anyone again.</p><p>So he thought. But on his earlier mission with Qrow, while Clover himself was the one to actually get hurt, and for something unrelated, he almost hit him. Almost ripped Kingfisher’s hook through his leg in a misstep, and he was yet again brought back to that night. Completely frozen for a handful of time.</p><p>Thankfully Qrow, an expert huntsman, blocked the hook with Harbinger’s blade and just kept moving. As if nothing had happened. Even joked with him about the close call.</p><p>And that was perhaps the push Clover needed to decide to talk to him.</p><p>At some point during the tale, Clover felt tears trailing down his face. He wasn’t sure if it was relief of finally telling someone, that someone being Qrow, or the look in the huntsman’s eyes. He knew he wouldn’t find disgust in those eyes, but he didn’t find pity, either. Only understanding. Understanding the guilt he still felt, understanding the fear that still clung to him from time to time. And that’s all he could have wanted.</p><p>Qrow pulled him close, held onto him as he let the tears run their course. Stretched out on the sofa, gently tugging the brunet to rest against his chest. And they just lay there for a while.</p><p>Clover felt himself getting drowsy as long fingers threaded through his hair, but something still weighed on his mind. He just couldn’t quite figure out what. He felt another set of fingers trace the letters on his arm. It felt lovely, the gentle caress against such a precious mark, and he found himself relaxing under the touch. The pain from bringing up the past slowly fading into the background as he buried his face in the crook of Qrow's neck, sighing contentedly against warm skin.</p><p>"It's okay to fall asleep, lucky charm," Qrow whispered, fingers pausing on Clover's arm.</p><p>Clover almost huffed a laugh at that, wondering just how obvious his exhaustion must be. But then he realised what he'd forgotten. And suddenly he felt a little foolish.</p><p>"I never asked," he began, lifting his head from Qrow's shoulder to see his face, "where your mark is."</p><p>Qrow's eyes widened, and he stilled under the gaze of curious green eyes. "O-oh, right," he managed to answer. As the initial alarm faded, his hand slipped from Clover's arm, finding its way to where his own mark rested. He clutched the spot on his abdomen, an inexplicable anxiousness settling over him.</p><p>Clover could feel his uneasiness, resting his hand atop Qrow's. "It doesn't have to be now." He wanted to see it, he really did. But the tension in Qrow's body suggested there might be a better time for it. “We’re both tired, it can wait.”</p><p>It <i>can</i> wait, he thought, because he already had what he needed. The acceptance he always wanted but was too afraid to seek out before. And while he knew that Qrow bore his soul mark, Clover was able to tell him everything without actually seeing it for himself. And Qrow listened, accepted everything he had to say. Accepted him.</p><p>And that was enough, Clover thought, settling back against Qrow, who slowly relaxed and drew an arm about him once more.</p>
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